


Gold

by missdibley



Series: Somewhere, Ireland [5]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Unrelated (2007), Wallander (UK TV), Wallander - All Media Types
Genre: Dublin (City), Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Ireland, RPF, Smut, Tag, mountjoy square
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oakley and OFC Helen. Magnus and OFC Halla. Tom and OFC Esme. Crossing paths, playing games, falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oakley The Writer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oakley had never had a chance."

Thomas Oakley, Oakley to his friends, Thomas or Tommy or simply Tom to his family, Oak to his beloved Helen, was fretful.

Oakley sat up in bed, back against the headboard, his head bent over the notebook he had propped up on his knees. The soft glow of a task lamp warmed his bare shoulders, and illuminated the page in front of him. The bed was soft and made with cool white sheets, tucked into the sleeping loft of a funny flat in a Georgian mansion in Dublin.

Outside, an afternoon thunderstorm brought rain that rattled the tall windows, and made the pink trees in Mountjoy Square Park look streaky and far away.

Chewing on a pen cap, the pen itself clasped in his fingers, Oakley regarded the words he'd printed carefully at the top of the page.

HELEN, ON THE OCCASION OF HER 18TH BIRTHDAY

He stared at the page, frowning at the words, as if doing so would make them spawn more words that he didn't have to conjure and write himself.

Words about Helen. Words for Helen.

Writing the words should have been simple enough, for his feelings were plain.

Oakley was in love with Helen.

Not at first sight, or first touch, or first night. But very nearly.

The trouble with "nearly", the trouble that stopped him writing in his beloved notebook, was that "nearly" wasn't "instantly".

And Oakley always thought it should have been. It should have been instant with Helen.

When he'd told Helen this the previous summer, after he had run away from home (having fed his mother a rather elaborate tale about needing to see a school friend before the start of term and begged his older brother to accompany him on the Eurostar) and found Helen in Paris, Oakley had swept her into his arms in the sort of grand gesture he thought all girls liked.

Helen had just laughed before demanding to be let up so she could plant her feet squarely and face him. She had taken his hands in hers and addressed him matter-of-factly.

"Oakley! You dummy." Helen kissed him lightly on the lips. "So you say you didn't fall in love with me at first sight. So it took you..." Helen mimed counting on her fingers, drawing long division in the air. "A whole EIGHT DAYS to realize it. People might argue  _that's_ too fast."

"But it isn't." Oakley shook his head. "It's the way I feel."

Helen smiled brightly.

"I know, Oak. So I can cut you some slack on those eight days when I couldn't have _possibly_ guessed that you were in love with me. Even though we spent nearly every second together after that fateful game of Tag. Even though we spent nearly every second of that time screwing each other's brains out. Even after I told you about my sad past and you made love to me - ugh, I hate that phrase but it cannot be helped because that's what it was - like I was new and shiny and brilliant."

Oakley had wrapped his arms around her, then buried his face in her neck so only she could feel the tears of relief make their way from his eyes, down cheeks still rounded with traces of baby fat, and christen her skin.

"But then I was in love with you, too." Helen's voice had lowered to a hush. "I had told you, and you didn't say it back. And it was okay because then your parents interrupted us and I had to clamber onto the coach to get here."

"You really should have borrowed my phone so we could text." Oakley sniffed.

"Yeah," replied Helen. "You're probably right."

Oakley laughed.

"That's probably the only time I'm ever going to hear you say that to me, huh?"

Helen slapped him.

"That's right, dude. It could be  _years_ before that ever happens again."

Oakley looked down at her, his eyes suddenly serious.

"How many years, Helen?" He smiled. "How many?"

That was ten months ago. And since then, through separation and one unbelievably cold visit to New York to see Helen for his birthday where he encountered her infamous father and very nearly got himself arrested, Oakley had come to what he considered was a perfectly unremarkable  and completely familiar conclusion.

He, Thomas William Oakley, was in love with Helen Teresa Dean.

  1. That love, having been tested by Helen's own insecurities, his tendency towards feelings of entitlement, and endless girls his mates at Eton insisted on parading past him when they'd heard he was properly in love, was secure.
  2. That love was stronger, bigger, more steadfast than even he could have ever hoped.
  3. That love was not transferrable. It was for Helen and Helen alone.



Oakley wrote these truths down in the notebook, squinted at his writing, then thought again. He scratched his upper lip, moaning when the faint smell of Helen's sex wafted from his fingertips. He looked at the girl sleeping beside him.

It didn't matter how she fell asleep - Helen always found a way to lie on her side so that she faced Oakley, her body seeking his warmth so that it could curl around him. For as much time as Helen had spent having sex with Oakley, she spent nearly as much time as that sleeping with him.

As in, she would actually be asleep. Head rested on his arm, or on his chest, sometimes on his stomach. Leg thrown over his, fingers clutching at the fine golden hair on his chest or resting on the flat of his stomach.

She was a deep sleeper, Helen was. Oakley could throw off her limbs if he had to nip to the loo, get a drink of water, text his mother that yes, Dublin was safe and of course he remembered the credit card was for emergencies like late night taxi rides and something pretty for Helen. As soon as he would return to bed, Helen would whimper in her sleep, toss and turn in search of him, and then ensnare Oakley in her soft embrace.

One of Mrs. Oakley's many texts to her son reminded him to check with his cousin Sarah, the family genius and graduate student at Trinity.

Oakley's mum had wanted them to stay with Sarah, sleep in the living room of the posh flat her parents had splashed out on for their daughter, but Sarah was busy writing papers and sitting exams and did not have time to babysit two horny teenagers.

Sarah did, however, permit herself to be taken to tea at [Queen of Tarts](http://www.queenoftarts.ie/) in Cork Hill, Dame Street by Oakley and Helen. A thank you for sending them advice via email on where to find nicer, slightly hipper spots to eat and drink than the ones their AirBNB landlady had recommended.

Helen was worried she would be nervous and stuttering in Sarah's presence, as she was still cringing over her near disastrous meeting with Oakley's parents and brother the previous year. She saw herself as "the poor American girl who's going to ruin Oakley's future" in her darkest moments. These were not words that had actually been used to describe her, but the ones that came up in her mind whenever she remembered Oakley's father, the imperious and impatient Dr. Oakley, peering down at her.

But as soon as Sarah saw Oakley holding open the door to the pin cushion of a cake shop, saw him watching Helen enter ahead of him, saw him gasp in surprise when the girl spun around and kissed him before taking his hand, the cockles of Sarah's academic, still single in her early 30's heart warmed. Sarah blushed, and her hands shook so hard she put down her cup of tea.

As soon as Sarah saw Helen, she knew why Dr. Oakley had disapproved and Mrs. Oakley had panicked, but then ultimately relented about Helen.

The thing about Helen that all of her fans in the extended Oakley family would later agree upon, years later, decades later, was that Helen was real. Even as a teenager her presence was a thing to be contended with. She was largely unaware of it, having been withdrawn and shy for so long, but when her confidence grew, when she came into herself, it was undeniable.

Helen was light but not a trifle - she was sharp. She was warm, diplomatic, and more often than not a bit silly. She was empathetic, curious, and a shameless flirt though only with the many babies who always seemed to end up in her orbit at family parties. She could put anybody at ease with her smile, her touch, or, in a particularly tough case, a dram of her favorite scotch.

Sarah saw Helen, all ebony curls and freckled cheeks and smiling lips, and was struck. Then Helen saw her, recognized her when Oakley lifted his finger to point out his cousin sitting in the banquette.

Helen came forward, drew her hair behind her ears, and then stuck out her hand.

"Hi! You must be Sarah. I'm Helen. It's so nice to meet you."

Helen's hand was soft and warm, her fingers fluttering in Sarah's palm as she withdrew it. She laughed, then situated herself on a chair so she and Oakley could study the menu together.

Sarah would confess, years later, over a pitcher of Pimm's cup at a family picnic, that if she hadn't been convinced of her own heterosexuality, she might have made a play for Helen herself. People laughed, then toasted to Helen and winked at Sarah. Oakley arched his eyebrow at her before going to find his wife for a quick fumble.

Helen was by no means perfect. But she was real and present and loving. There was an urgency to Helen, a fire to Helen, that the Oakley clan could hardly deny. They knew that they needed Helen, wanted Helen, and none more so than Oakley.

Oakley had never had a chance.


	2. Helen The Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Mr. Turner blushing." "He did boats."

[The Winding Stair](http://winding-stair.com/) was closing down for the night. The handsome man behind the bar had corked half-full bottles, and gathered bar towels for the laundry. A few waiters nipped to the far reaches of the dining room to check their phones before returning to find their diners still lingering over a morsel of pudding, or debating where to go for a nightcap.

Among the diners were a pair of lovers, enjoying a belated birthday dinner on their last night in Dublin. They sat next to each other, snug as mice, a seating arrangement which confused their waiter (who argued they were missing the view) and only annoyed the neighboring diners who felt a little crowded, though only for a moment when they could see the pair cooing between bites of supper.

Irish seafood chowder and potted Dingle Bay crab with toasted soda bread, then John Stone's Connemara Hill lamb rump with pea mash for the gentleman and Doran's hake fillet with poached egg and Krerry crab hollandaise for the lass and, finally, one order of the bread and butter pudding with two spoons.

"Happy birthday, Helen."

Oakley placed a small box on the table in front of his girl.

Helen smiled, then turned to face Oakley. She ran her fingers under his jaw, and kissed her sweetheart.

"Oak, you didn't have to do this. You've already gotten me so much. My plane ticket..."

"Dad's frequent flier miles, and he's got plenty." Oakley insisted.

"My share of the AirBNB..."

"Mum's treat, and we got a decent rate anyway." Oakley returned her kiss.

Helen looked bashful. She leaned into Oakley, sighing when he gently squeezed the back of her neck.

"But what about that sweater you got me?"

"You needed something warm." Oakley brought his arms around her at the waist, and squeezed her gently.

"Even after I said I wanted it because it reminded me of the one Tom Hiddleston wore on 'Top Gear'?"

Oakley laughed.

"Yeah, I still don't see how I look like that guy."

"Really? Halla totally saw it. The resemblance, I mean." Helen's eyes looked dreamy at the memory of the handsome actor.

"Did she?" Oakley was thoughtful as he leaned forward to take a bite of pudding. "Well, if she thinks so, I guess it mustn't be all that bad."

Helen got back at him by playfully biting his cheek.

"Jerk." Helen smirked at Oakley. She ruffled his hair. "I like your hair better anyway."

She leaned forward to pick up the box, turning it over in her hands.

"Shall I...?"

"Just a tick." Oakley took a sip of water, then began to sing in a hush in her ear.

"Happy birthday to you..." He pressed a gentle, closed mouth kiss behind her ear. "Happy birthday to you..." The same kiss, this time at the spot where her neck and shoulder met.

"Happy birthday, sweet Helen..." Oakley's lips tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Happy birthday to..."

Helen cut him off before he could finish, slipping her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. She stroked his jaw with one hand, while the other clutched at the curls at the nape of his neck. She sat back to look at him in the light of the setting sun, which streamed through the window behind them. Her eyes were dilated, and her lips swollen.

"I think we should get out of here."

Oakley nodded vigorously, then stood up almost abruptly and signaled for the check. While he paid for the meal, Helen slipped on her coat, and tucked Oakley's gift into her pocket.

They didn't hear the adults giggling after them as they hustled down the stairs.

* * *

The cab ride back to the flat should have been brief, but Saturday night traffic made it long enough that whatever passion had bubbled up during what many would agree was a rather sensual rendition of "Happy Birthday" simply dissipated.

There was also the matter of Helen fighting with the driver over the fare.

Helen turned the brass key in the the lock on the front door of 54 Mountjoy Square, and smiled at the heart-shaped plate. Behind her, Oakley pouted on the stairs up to the second floor.

"I'm sorry you're cross, Oak, but that guy was trying to cheat you."

"I don't care."

"He would have taken us all the way out to the gaol and back again before you said anything!"

Oakley shrugged.

"I just wanted to get you home."

Helen sighed.

"I know," Helen replied. "Yeah. I know."

Helen passed Oakley on the stairs, relieved when he let her take his hand and lead him up to their apartment door. She let them in, then stood aside as Oakley hung up his coat, then hers, on the hooks in the entry. Helen flicked on the light and watched the two of them in the mirror, Oakley avoiding her gaze as he arranged the coats, tucked her scarf into her sleeve. She touched his back, and he shrugged out of her reach.

Helen wanted to cry.

"Tea?" Oakley had made his way to the tiny kitchen.

"Sure." Helen muttered, then remembered the package in her coat pocket. She withdrew it, and took it with her as she sat on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Placing it on the floor, she looked at it. She picked it up again. She turned it over in her hands.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Oakley stood behind her, watching her do everything with the gift but open it. He sat on the couch behind her, and placed a steaming mug on the brass tray and stand that served as a coffee table.

Helen nodded. As she began to unwrap it, Oakley began to speak.

"I didn't know what to get you. I know what you like, even what you love..." Oakley paused. "But I hadn't a clue. It's your first birthday with me, and I wanted it to be so perfect."

"But it was so perfect. And then I ruined it." Helen hated herself, hated her voice for sounding so small.

"Oh Helen..." Oakley joined her on the floor. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorrier."

Oakley laughed.

"Okay, let's stop being sorry and dammit, woman, you are the slowest un-wrapper in the world."

Oakley took the package out of Helen's hands, gave her the white satin ribbon (which she tied in her hair) and the matte blue paper (which she folded carefully before setting it on the floor. He removed the lid and withdrew a small charm dangling on a brass chain.

Helen squinted at it as Oakley reached over, took her hand in his, and placed it gently in her palm.

"Is that...?" Helen looked up at him. Her eyes were wet.

"Yes," replied Oakley. "It's an oak leaf. It's brass, but it's an oak leaf. Do you like...?"

Again, Helen interrupted him with a searing kiss. She sat back, then lifted her hair off her neck so Oakley could put it on her.

"I'm never taking it off." Helen sounded fierce. "Never." She took the leaf in her fingers, and kissed it.

Oakley smiled.

"It looks beautiful on you." Oakley's voice was tender, the kind of tender that tended to inspire in Helen a sort of wickedness.

Helen leaned back, her lips curled into a wolfish grin.

"Oak." She whispered. "We should mark this occasion. With a picture." She found her iPhone in her pocket, then scooted back to sit next to him. "Selfie time, baby."

Oakley groaned.

"I think Facebook could live without this particular moment, don't you? My mother's liked every single picture you've taken and uploaded since we've been here."

"Ah, the danger of free wi-fi in the flat. Sorry, babe, can't be helped." Helen pecked his cheek, taking a picture of them as she did so. "Okay just a couple more."

Helen tapped the touchscreen of her device, then handed it to Oakley.

"Does this mean no more pictures?" Oakley sounded hopeful.

"Um, not quite." Helen licked her lips.

"Just one more of me. Wearing this." Helen touched the oak leaf, which hung at the base of her throat.

"All right." Oakley nodded,

"Wearing  _only_ this."

Oakley dropped the phone.

* * *

"I still don't understand the nervousness."

Helen had brought the comforter down from the sleeping loft, wrapping it around her naked form before lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. Oakley had managed to build a fire, though it took him a bit longer than it should have as his hands shook throughout.

"It's just..." Oakley's voice cracked. "I've seen you, and you've seen me, but we've never done pictures before."

Helen scoffed.

"We've done pictures before! All those pictures we texted. And what about our naked sleepovers via Facetime?"

"But we were never in the same room when we took them. We didn't do them in Oxford, or in New York..."

"Because we were too busy actually being naked with each other instead of documenting it for posterity." Helen bit her lip.

"Something like that, yeah." Oakley breathed. "This just feels different to me."

"It does, doesn't it?" Helen agreed. She watched Oakley sit on the floor in front of her. He took a deep breath.

"My camera or yours?"

"Your camera, sweet." Helen whispered. "This is all for you."

Helen slipped the comforter off, then lay on one side to face Oakley. She arranged the necklace so the leaf rested between her breasts, crossed one leg in front of the other, and rested her free hand on her thigh. Her eyes were dark and so full of love that Oakley felt he might explode into a thousand pieces.

Oakley picked up his iPhone, turned on the camera app, then held it in front of his face. He took a few pictures, of her face, of her shoulders and hair, the stiff peaked nipples and the soft mound between her legs.

Helen yawned languidly.

"I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Mr. Turner blushing." Helen invoked the name of the great British painter she dearly loved.

"He did boats."

Oakley stuttered, like when he was a kid. He leaned back, needing a wider shot to get her entire body. As he took more pictures, he saw the way the shadows danced on her skin. Her hair fell in fine waves around her face. Her belly was round and soft, an invitation for him to rest his head. He imagined kissing her inner thighs, saw himself tickling the backs of her knees. She was so familiar and yet so different in this light.

"How do they look?" The sound of Helen's voice interrupted his reverie.

Oakley crawled forward, handing Helen the phone so she could scroll through them. He watched her eyes widen in delight as she looked at herself, saw the way he saw her, saw the way he loved her. Oakley was rewarded with a soft kiss to the base of his throat.

"Okay, just one more."

"Woman, I'm going to 'just one more' myself in the shower if you don't..."

Helen chuckled.

"This one I think you'll like." Helen showed him the screen, then tapped the video mode button, and hit record. She tapped it again so the back-facing camera showed them, then propped the phone up a few feet away from their heads. It was angled to show them on the floor.

"Yeah?" Helen whispered.

Oakley bent down to kiss her, hard and fast. He took her wrists in his hands, then raised her arms so they were stretched out on the floor above her head. He crossed them at the wrist, then straddled her leg.

Oakley ran a hand down her body, starting at her jaw to trace along, slow line down her throat, over her left breast and its nipple, diagonally across her belly until it came to a rest on her sex. He leaned down to kiss her breast, sucked briefly on the nipple, swirled around it with his tongue.

"Tag." Oakley breathed. "You're it."

Helen laughed softly, then became silent when Oakley sat back up and pulled his shirt off. He shifted his weight to his knees, kneeling forward as he shimmied out of his shorts. He arched his torso over her, relishing the sight of her lying on the floor in front of him. He used one hand to move his cock to her cunt, and position it at her entrance.

"I love you, Helen. I love you so much."

"I love you, too." Helen covered Oakley's hand with hers, so they dragged the tip of his dick across her clit slowly before slipping the tip inside her folds.

Oakley thrust, so hard and so fast that Helen gasped for air. She bought her knees up, nearly to her shoulders, so Oakley could go deeper. Helen squeezed her eyes shut, so she was surprised when Oakley began to knead her clit with his thumb.

"Oh god, Oakley. Please. Oh shit. Fuck." Helen panted. Her breasts rose and fell as she gasped, her pussy clenched around Oakley's cock as it moved in and out.

Oakley pounded harder, bruising his knees on the Oriental rug that provided little padding between their entwined bodies and the hard wood floor.

His eyes squeezed shut, and he was still overwhelmed by the hot, wet embrace of Helen's cunt. The smacking sound of his cock sliding in and out of her was driving him mad. The scent of their bodies, of their sex, hung in the air around him.

Helen spread her legs wider, then moved her hand between her legs so she could rub and press and pinch her clit herself.

Oakley groaned in relief at being able to use both arms to brace himself as he continued to fuck her on the floor. He opened his eyes to find a smile on Helen's face. Looking down, he watched her finger frantically touch herself, strumming her clit as his dick pounded into her wet pussy below.

"Oh god, that's so hot baby." Oakley groaned. He was so exhausted already but he just wanted to go faster, to go farther. He began to roll his hips but still kept up his punishing pace and force. The sound of his hips against her inner thighs was loud, the feeling powerful and so strong.

Helen screamed.

"Oakley! FUCK!" She sounded delirious. "Shit!" She didn't want it to be over but she could feel herself tightening beyond her control. Her knees came up further, closer to his shoulders.

"Fuck yeah," Oakley groaned as he felt her tighten, felt her spasm around his cock. He felt the first wave of her orgasm hit just as his cock began to jerk and he came inside of her.

"Oh god oh god. Baby. Shit yes. Please. Oh fuck." Helen was already whimpering, but Oakley was still hard. He went slower but kept moving inside of her.

"Oakley, wait." Helen whimpered. "Roll onto your back."

Oakley obeyed, pulling Helen up and wrapping his arms around her so she lay on his chest. Still inside of her, he placed his feet flat on the floor so his bent legs could support her further. Oakley began to roll his hips up, slowly fucking Helen again. He freed an arm so he could massage her throbbing clit.

"Oh god, that's so good." Helen cooed. "So slow. Nice... and slow." She pushed herself up, then placed her hands on his chest. Helen lightly rubbed his nipples with her thumbs, then let her head fall back. She kept her eyes closed.

Oakley watched her breasts moving in front of him, and felt tempted. He sat up and took a nipple between his lips, sucking and licking. His rolling hips began to buck and still he slowly and carefully swirled his tongue around Helen's hard buds.

She gripped his hair, making a sound of anguish as he teased her nipples with his tongue.

"Oakley, oh god. Again. I'm going to.. I'm going to..."

Oakley lay back, taking Helen with him. He pressed his face into his hair, stilling them above the waist while below his hips bucked hard and fast right into Helen's core.

Helen was tight, tighter than she'd ever been, as she clenched around his cock that could not stop. She screamed wordlessly, lips moving as her second orgasm ripped through her just as Oakley came inside her.

Jerking and clenching his ass, Oakley kept fucking and jerking as he came, not wanting to waste a stroke, not when he was engulfed in the heat of the girl who lay in his arms. He finally opened his eyes but it didn't matter - the room was fuzzy, and little white lights still popped into his field of vision. Eventually, the plaster medallion on the ceiling came into view. He looked down at Helen, who was nearly asleep in his arms.

"Happy birthday, Helen." Oakley reached down and cupped her ass in his hands, then carefully ran his hands up and down her back.

Helen looked up at him. She opened her mouth, but couldn't. Her eyes filled with tears. She kissed his chest, then snuggled back into him.

"I know, baby." Oakley breathed. "I love you, too."

 


	3. Tom The Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In that suite, Tom Hiddleston lifted his head from between Esme Grey's thighs, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and asked his fiancée a question."

Somewhere in Dublin there was a hotel. Not too big, not too small. Just posh enough to make its guests feel well-tended but not smothered. It was justifiably famous for the quality of its afternoon tea, the generous proportions of the guest rooms, and the beauty of the concierge. The concierge who was busy working on a special project for the gentleman in suite 1402.

In that suite, Tom Hiddleston lifted his head from between Esme Grey's thighs, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and asked his fiancée a question.

"Esme..." Tom whispered. "Darling, are you alright?"

"Hmm?" Esme lifted her head, a dreamy expression on her face. A few strands of black hair were stuck to her forehead which, like the rest of her, was covered in a veil of sweat. Having been brought to a state of complete bliss by her beloved's sweet lips (and exceptionally nimble tongue), Esme was exhausted and at peace with the world.

"Petal..." Tom coaxed her.

Esme chirped happily at the sound of her pet name, then made a sound of surprise as Tom crawled up and curled up against her on the bed. He lay his head on her breast.

"Have you told anybody yet?" Tom asked.

"Told anybody about what?" Esme frowned, then relaxed her face. "Oh, you mean about..."

"Yes, about..." Tom nodded.

"The thing."

"If by 'the thing' you mean our engagement, then yes," replied Tom.

"I haven't." Esme scratched her bare breast, then brought her hand to rest on her stomach. "Have you?"

"Not yet."

"But, we should say something right?"

"We should." Tom blew a raspberry into Esme's breast, making her squeal with delight. He smiled at the sound of her laugh, which carried through the open window to the world outside, where it got lost in the sound of city below.

Esme drew the covers around them, then snuggled down on the bed so she could press her cheek into his shoulder.

"I want to marry you." Esme kissed his shoulder when she said this.

"Say it again." Tom whispered.

"I want to marry you." Esme took Tom's hand in hers, lacing her fingers through his, and squeezed it.

Tom trailed his hand down her arm, and ran a finger over the identification bracelet [he'd given her in March](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3705541).

"Okay, I'm going to quiz you now." Tom pouted when Esme groaned in reply.

"Tom, I've only been awake for an hour, an hour in which you brought me to orgasm but failed to bring me coffee." She squealed in protest when he bopped her gently with a pillow.

"Brat!" Tom chastised her lovingly, then fitted the pillow under Esme's head. "This is the kind of quiz you will enjoy, I promise you. There are no wrong answers."

"Fine," replied Esme. "But if I fail I'm going to lay the blame on you. For distracting me. With your wicked tongue."

Tom stuck his tongue out at her.

"Oh, so who's the brat now?" Esme asked good-naturedly. She closed her eyes. "Ask away, Daddy."

Tom growled, and felt his dick harden at the sound of Esme's pet name for him.

"Oh god, Pet..."

"I'm sorry, Daddy? What was that?" Esme trailed her hand down his torso, then let her hand rest on his abdomen.

Tom's breathing got heavier as he anticipated and welcomed the sensation of her small, soft hand's touch on his skin.

"First question: when?"

"You'll be slammed with work almost as soon as we leave Dublin, pretty much through the fall. Should we wait until next year?"

"No," replied Tom fiercely. "If I could, I'd marry you today. I wanted to marry you that day in Dingle, on Slea Head."

"I know." Esme's voice was soft. "That could have been something. Surrounded by puffins from Puffin Island, a donkey for your best man."

"We'll import some puffins then. I draw the line at a donkey. So... Christmas then?"

"New Year's Eve, I think." Esme smiled, then slipped her hand further down Tom's body so it now rested below his navel.

"Next question. Oh god, please don't move your hand. It feels too good." Tom's voice sounded rough. "Where shall we marry?"

"I don't care. Somewhere warm? I'd love Chicago but we always get hit by an insane amount of snow that time of year. It would be hard for your friends and family to come from London."

"But is Chicago what you want?"

"What I want is to be somewhere lovely, big enough for us and a few people we love." Esme grew quiet. "How about a civil ceremony in London?"

"But all your friends, your life in Chicago..." Tom protested.

Esme looked up at him.

"Dearest, you are my life. London is my life. It's that simple."

Tom nodded, then kissed the top of Esme's head. He lay back as she continued to ruminate.

"I can pay for Annie and her family and Charles and his family, my brother Joe in New York, to fly out for that. Your parents and sisters, their families. Ben and Sophie. Emma Thompson, who got me to O'Hare that night, she'd be livid if we didn't invite her. We could do parties in Chicago and London in the spring once things have settled down after the holidays, award season, all that stuff."

"Perfect. Only, you are not paying for your friends and family to fly out for the wedding. I'll take care of it."

"Tom..." Esme whined.

"No. Let it be my wedding gift. Or part of it anyway."

"Fine." Esme sounded resolved, but glad. "What's next?"

"Honeymoon."

"Ooh." Esme purred. "This is traditionally the groom's choice, isn't it?"

"Traditionally, but it's the 21st century pet." Tom's groan sounded pained almost, as Esme trailed her hand and let it rest gently on his prick. It stirred gently under her fingers.

"How about..." Esme kissed Tom's chest. "We say what we want to do at the count of three."

"Ooohhhh..." Tom breathed.

"I'll take that as a yes." Esme smiled. "Three... two... one... go!"

"Greek islands!" "Greek islands!"

As soon as they realized they'd shouted the same destination at the same time, the pair collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"I want to see you all tan and reading The Iliad to me." Esme grinned. "In the original Greek, if you please."

"Only if you recite Ovid to me." Tom said solemnly.

Esme groaned.

"I only had a few years of Latin in high school. I'm not sure I could recall any of it."

"We'll get you a tutor." Tom whispered. "Now  _that_ could be your wedding present."

"Ooh, now that I would adore. Some nice young thing down from Cambridge for the summer. I wonder if I could find my old school uniform, carelessly cross and uncross my legs during my lessons."

"Petal..." Tom warned her.

Esme drew her thumb across the head of Tom's prick, smearing the pre-cum that had begun to gather at the slit. She stuck her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it greedily.

Esme looked up at Tom, and watched his eyes grow dark as she lapped at the thumb daintily. She released the digit from her lips with a loud "pop", then slid her hand down his body, thrilling at the way he closed his eyes and whimpered as she did so. He keened gently when her hand found him, pulsing and hot.

Tom's cock was now erect, velvety smooth and dark, ready to be touched and loved.

Carefully, Esme slid a leg next to his. She kept it still, focusing instead on watching Tom's face change as her hand began to stroke him.

"Tom, if you don't mind, I'm going to touch myself deeply, intimately, before I take you in hand again. I need something slick."

Tom opened his eyes and tried to move his head so he could watch her.

"No, my love. Just lie back and relax." Esme kissed his chest, sucked briefly on a nipple and reveled in the sound of the gentle cry that escaped from his mouth.

Esme inserted one then two fingers into her sex, pumping gently to coat them thoroughly. She rubbed a thumb against her clit, which throbbed under her touch. She whimpered.

"Oh god, baby. Can you hear me? That feels so good. Almost as good as when you touch me." Esme whispered.

"Petal, please." Tom's breaths were getting shallower. "Just touch me, baby."

"Yes, Daddy." Esme purred. "I just need to tease my clit, get my juices going. Would you... would you like a taste?"

Esme didn't wait for a reply, instead sticking one of the fingers that had been knuckle deep in her pussy into Tom's mouth. He pursed his lips over the finger, sucking on it greedily, while he swirled his tongue around the tip. He groaned when she withdrew it.

"Oh Daddy," Esme pouted. "You sucked me dry! Now I've got to touch myself all over again."

Esme sat up, moving over Tom so she straddled his hips. Tom lifted his head and opened his eyes in time to see Esme insert her index and middle fingers into her slick folds. She fucked herself gently, rolling her hips and sighing as she did.

Tom released a breath he didn't know he had been holding when Esme took his stiff cock in her hand and began to stroke it. He was so big that she eventually engaged her other hand, interlacing the fingers to envelop him in her hands. She worked him, bobbing her hands up in down as a single unit, all the while singing and rolling her hips and tossing her head so her hair danced around her shoulders, tickled her nipples, got in her dark eyes.

Tom brought his hands down to grasp her, first at the hips and then around her ass to cup the small, smooth cheeks.

"That's nice, Daddy. Very nice. Your Pet likes that." Esme cooed. She squeaked in surprise when he brought a hand around to her cunt, and began to rub her clit with his thumb.

"Oh god. Tom, Tom that's..." Esme's voice was husky and rough as Tom pushed and pressed her swollen nub.

"Darling girl." Tom rasped, then slid his middle finger into her sex.

Esme cried out but still kept her hands wrapped around Tom's cock. She squeezed her hands as she worked them up and down. The faster she went, the harder Tom pumped his middle finger and rubbed that thumb.

Esme stilled a few times, responding to the knot of pleasure that began to grow in her belly. She managed to keep her hands going, moving them less rapidly as Tom began to buck his hips and into them with greater speed and force.

All the while his fingers played her, fucked her like she loved.

Tom couldn't help but watch Esme's face, which crumpled and contorted as the pleasures that began in her sex and in her clit made their way through her body. When she began to laugh, her smile taking over her face, he knew she was close. Breasts dancing, belly shivering so slightly - would Esme ever know how beautiful she was when in the throes of love making?

How could a woman look so angelic when engaged in carnal pleasure?

Esme kept her hands closed over Tom's dick, which pumped wildly into them. It felt good but it wasn't the same as fucking her cunt, which was always so wet and so hot and so tight and so sweet.

"Ah! Ahhhh! Tom, please!"

Esme cried out, her hips bucking and rolling and finally spasming as Tom's fingers pumped and brushed her g-spot inside while outside his thumb circled her clit roughtly. She came, her body jerking and shaking and yet her grip on Tom's cock remained firm and supple.

"Shit! Oh fuck Esme! FUCK! I'm gonna come!"

Tom was prepared to spend all over Esme's hands but the sound of his voice seemed to shake her, startle her enough that even as she continued in the throes of her own orgasm, she moved quickly enough, closing her sweet lips over as much of Tom's cock as she could take so he flooded her mouth with his cum.

"OH SHIT!"

Tom could hardly believe it, could hardly believe the surprise of Esme's hot mouth, lips pursed over the throbbing head of his dick, swallowing him and taking everything he had. He nearly came again when he felt his dick touch the back of her throat, and thought he might actually pass out when he realized she was suckling.

And all at once the room was still. The world had stopped spinning. Tom reached down to stroke Esme's head.

"Are you... are you there?" Tom whispered.

Esme tapped his hip with her finger. Moaning, she moved her head back, releasing Tom's cock from her mouth. She slowly sat up and turned to look at Tom. Her eyes were glassy, and the tiniest hint of a smile played on her lips.

Tom wasn't sure he could have loved her more. Gently, he slid down the bed, meeting her in the middle so he could lay her gently against his side.

"Hi." Esme rasped.

"You need water, Petal."

"Maybe." Esme closed her eyes. "Did you like that, Daddy?"

"Esme, that was wonderful. I... don't even..."

"Hush." Esme reached up to pat his lips with her hand. She curled up into his body.

They lay like that, quiet in a cocoon of bliss. Tom drew a cashmere blanket around Esme. He got up to  grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

Tom was giving Esme tiny sips of water, encouraging her to drink when a soft knock came at the door.

"Back in a second, my love." Tenderly, he kissed her forehead before getting up.

"Sir?" The concierge stood in the hall, not at all curious as to why Tom had only opened the door a crack. She guessed, correctly, that he was not dressed.

"I have your parcel here."

She slipped a slim arm through the door, a small bag dangling from her open hand.

"Thank you, madame. If you'll just give me a moment, I'll just get you something for your trouble..."

She withdrew her hand.

"That won't be necessary, sir."

"But it must have been difficult."

"Nothing to concern yourself with, sir. It was our pleasure."

The concierge nodded, backed away from the door, and was gone.

Tom withdrew a small velvet box from the bag. Dropping the bag on the floor, he opened the velvet box and picked up the item inside, inspecting it in the morning light. Satisfied, he crept back into bed with Esme.

Esme stirred at the feeling of the mattress bowing next to her. She opened her eyes to find Tom lying next to her, his face inches from hers. His eyes were closed.

"Tom, who was at the door?"

"It's not who was at the door so much as what was at the door. That's the question."

Esme sighed.

"Tom, what was at the door?"

Tom smiled.

"I'm glad you asked."

Tom slipped his fingers through the fingers of Esme's left hand, then kissed them. He slid down to kneel on the floor at the foot of the bed, his arm outstretched so that he could gently guide Esme into a sitting position in front of him.

Esme sniffled.

"Oh god, Tom." She whispered. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Darling, Esme." Tom began. "Will you marry me?"

"Tom, I already..."

"Wait!"

Esme shook her head - she knew he would interrupt her. He had his speech-making look in his eye. Again. She nodded at him to continue.

"You once told me that you much preferred Shakespeare's sonnets to his plays. After I got over the shock of such a controversial pronouncement, I felt glad that you had arrived at this opinion after having read all of his works."

Esme shrugged.

"I like to read."

Tom kissed one of her bare knees.

"You like a lot of other things. You like orange flavored things but not oranges. You think tans are show-offy unless gotten in the line of work. You like fountain pens and black ink. You like corgis because they remind you of otters, or is it the other way around. You prefer lemon desserts to chocolate. And you like gold jewelry. So I hope you like this."

Tom produced the velvet box, then opened it so its contents faced Esme. It was a ring, a yellow gold ring with prongs that looked a bit rough. They held in their clutches a rough diamond.

Esme began to cry. Through her tears, she watched Tom withdraw the ring from its resting place. He held it up to the light, then flipped it around to show her a tiny inscription, "XXXI", engraved on the inside.

Tom took Esme's left hand in his left hand, then slid the ring onto her finger.

"Esme," Tom whispered. "Do you know what the inscription means?"

Esme could only nod.

"Will you, can you...?"

Esme nodded, then began to recite in a rough voice, barely louder than a whisper.

> _Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,_  
>  _Which I by lacking have supposed dead;_  
>  _And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,_  
>  _And all those friends which I thought buried._  
>  _How many a holy and obsequious tear_  
>  _Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,_  
>  _As interest of the dead, which now appear_  
>  _But things removed that hidden in thee lie!_

Esme's voice cracked. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against Tom's, then pressed her forehead against his.

Gazing into each other's eyes, they recited the last lines together.

> _Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,_  
>  _Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,_  
>  _Who all their parts of me to thee did give,_  
>  _That due of many now is thine alone:_  
>  _Their images I loved, I view in thee,_  
>  _And thou (all they) hast all the all of me._

Tom almost couldn't see Esme's face through his own tears. Pressing his lips into her cheeks, then to her ears, he whispered again.

"Esme Frances Grey, will you?"

Esme sighed and drew him into her arms. She buried her face in his neck for a moment, then raised her head to look into his eyes.

"Thomas William Hiddleston, yes. Yes."

She hugged him tightly.

"Yes."


	4. Esme The Piglet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered._  
>  _"Yes, Piglet?"_  
>  _"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you._  
>  ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

The couple in suite 1402 were dancing.

Despite the presence of an elaborate and expensive stereo system, no music played as they swayed gently in each other's arms.

Tom Hiddleston tightened his grasp around the girl in his arms, humming an old tune. His eyes were closed. He relished the feel of her soft warm body against his. He ran his fingers through her hair, which fell in untidy waves down her back.

Esme Grey, recognizing the melody coming from her beloved's lips, began to sing along. She couldn't help herself. Esme loved to sing. Her voice was soft and gentle, girlish. When Esme sang, it sounded like a promise.

> [_When we were strangers_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UtAslGnSYw)  
>  _I watched you from afar_  
>  _When we were lovers_  
>  _I loved you with all my heart._

Tom's stopped humming to listen to Esme sing. When he stopped she smiled up at him. She glowed in the soft morning light, which was still gray and dull from the rain.

"I love that song." Esme said.

"It's your favorite," replied Tom. He kissed her temple.

"Oh, that's nice. It's in the favorite tier, for sure. There are other songs."

"Yes, I know. ['Sweet Life'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZzH2M2BYv0) by Frank Ocean is another."

"Uh huh." Esme kissed his chest.

"Paul Simon's ['Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-I_T3XvzPaM) which is also a favorite of mine."

Esme wiggled her hips, making Tom laugh.

"It's wonderful for dancing."

Tom chuckled.

"Have we moved onto first dance songs, Pet?"

"Tom, I've been thinking about that ever since, well, ever since we met."

Tom blushed all the way down to his chest. Esme found this endearing.

"Did I embarrass you?" Esme cried.

"No, darling, it's just... I find that I'm delighted that this is something you've been thinking about since that night."

"Yes," whispered Esme. "The night before Valentine's Day."

"I always felt it was just a little unfair, me already knowing so much about you before we met in person."

"Well, Tom, I mean, it was for the, um, job." Esme stopped swaying.

Tom took her chin in his hand, tilting it up so she faced him. Esme wore a serious expression.

"It was my honor and privilege to be your first date on that cold night." Tom leaned down to press a kiss to her lips.

"And now it will forever be my honor and privilege..." He kissed her again. "To be your last."

Tom smiled at her tenderly.

"Oh my sweetheart..."

Esme reached up, wrapping her hands around the back of Tom's head, and pulled his lips back down to hers. She whimpered into his mouth, murmuring words of love so sweetly he thought he might have to take her back to bed.

He was about to do just that when a mobile phone rang. Esme frowned.

"Oh, there goes your fucking..." She paused.

"Holy shit, that's  _my_ phone."

"Are you going to get it?" Tom asked gently.

"Hmm, get my phone or stand here with my beloved?"

"It might be important."

"More important than this?" Esme winked as she reached down and gave his cock a gentle squeeze.

"Oh god..."

The phone continued to ring.

"Petal, get that phone. I'll run us a bath."

Esme pouted but did as he said.

She swiped her finger across the screen of her iPhone when she saw the name of another person she loved.

"Annie!"

"Essie!" Esme's best friend Ann Ingwer chirped into her own iPhone while she hid in the basement of her house in Oak Park, Illinois.

"What are you doing up so early? It's it like 5 there?"

"I'm doing laundry. What else could I possibly be doing?"

Esme laughed.

"Did you know it's been fifteen years and I am  _still_ scrubbing skid marks out of Aaron's underwear?"

"EW."

Esme gasped for air, laughing. She smiled.

"Baby, how are you?"

"Who gives a shit, Es. What are  _you_ up to? You haven't been on Facebook or Instagram in AGES and I want to see your Ireland pictures."

"Do you really want to see endless pictures of sheep and rock walls? Or is that code for 'Does Michael Fassbender still ask about me yes or no?'"

"BITCH!"

Esme just laughed.

"Girl, admit it. I know you love Aaron but Michael... He's special to you, isn't he?"

Ann was silent on the other end of the line.

"Annie..." Esme whispered. "It's okay. You had a fling. Nobody knows except me, you, Michael, and Tom. And that's the way it's gonna stay."

Ann sniffed loudly, then began to cry.

"Oh no, what happened?" Esme sat down on the bed.

Tom stuck his head out of the bathroom to check that she was okay. She gave him a thumbs up, then waved him away.

"Nothing," Ann volunteered. "It's just... it wasn't a fling."

"Oh darling, I didn't know you cared for him."

"Care for him, Es. I still do."

"Annie..." Esme's voice trailed off.

"Esme, he... he's here."

"Who's there? Michael?"

"Yeah." Ann breathed.

"In your basement?"

"No! Oh my god, no..." Ann's voice sounded tight. "He's in Chicago. He said he was here for a shoot, a commercial or something, but that was made up."

"Did he call you?" Esme stood up, then began to pace the room.

"Not exactly, no."

"He came to see you." Esme finished the thought. "Annie?"

"Sorry, I was nodding."

Esme laughed.

"Es, I went into the city. I told Aaron I was going to have girls' night with Marie, sleep over at her place in Hyde Park."

Esme pictured her friend pacing around her basement, and began to worry about her beloved Ann becoming more anxious.

"Annie, you're not pulling your eyelashes out? Breathe deep, okay? Remember I love you."

"Okay," Ann breathed.

"Good girl." Esme assured her best friend. "Now, you went into the city..."

"Yeah. I took the crossover. I didn't even take the car seats out. I was just going for a drink, say hi, maybe flirt, and then get the fuck out of there. Drive back to Marie's, go home in the morning, and spend the next 30 to forty years having dull sex with dull Aaron while picturing Michael fucking me."

Ann made a shuddery, nervous sound.

"But Esme, he looked so good. Michael always looks good. And he was so serious. He really was going to leave it at just a drink. At the hotel bar where we could be discreet. But then we had dinner - did you know fancy restaurants have private dining rooms? He told me about his parents and sister, his place in Killarney. Things he got close to sharing with me in London but I refused to hear it. I didn't want to hear it because he has a girlfriend and I have a husband and a child! But he got to me, Es. He listened to me. He wanted to hear all about Posy, and my sister and my crazy mother."

"He's a lovely man, Annie." Esme's voice was reassuring.

"I know."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't think so."

"Did you spend the night with him?"

Annie laughed.

"I nearly did. I wanted to. So did he. But we stopped, got so close. He had me up against the door to his suite..."

"Oh my god..."

"But we stopped. We had to."

"Why? Did he want to have unprotected sex? Were you worried he was going to hurt you?"

"No," Annie whispered. "It's just that, I realized..." Before she could continue the thought, Ann began to cry.

"Annie, I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry about bothering you. And oh shit Tom, he must be standing there waiting for you to get off the phone so he can take you to bed."

"Oh, he isn't," replied Esme. "Mainly because he already did. Twice."

"Show-off."

Esme cackled.

"So you realized what exactly, Annie?"

Ann sighed.

"I realized that while I wasn't in love in Michael, I am pretty sure that I am no longer in love with Aaron."

Esme gasped.

"Sorry, gotta go." Ann sounded resigned. "Posy's awake. I just heard her screaming for me." And she clicked off.

Esme stood dumbfounded, rocked to her core. She wiped a tear from her eye and choked back a sob. She looked at her hand, admiring the way her engagement ring sparkled in the light.

The rough diamond was lively and bright and full of fire, but it didn't compare to the way Tom's eyes sparkled when he looked at her. The way his eyes danced when he touched her. The way they burned when he took her in his arms, brought her to bed, to the floor, to the wall, and fucked her.

The ring was a symbol, a pledge, a promise of the love that Tom bore her. But it was nothing without him.

Esme couldn't hide her sadness when she made her way into the bathroom, and slipped into the tub. Tom dozed in the bubbles, growling when Esme settled between his legs and lay back against his chest.

"You were a while in there. The bubbles have begun to flatten." He chuckled. "Everything okay, Pet?"

"Not really. Annie's in trouble, I think."

"Anything we can do to help?"

"No," replied Esme. "I want to go to her but I'm not sure it would help."

"She's not in danger is she?"

"No, but her marriage is."

"Ah." Tom looked down at her. "Michael?"

"Yeah."

"I thought he was a good guy."

"Oh, he is! He really is. It's just... Aaron, Annie's husband, he's a good man, too."

Tom shrugged.

"Hard to argue with that, from what Annie told me. They've been together for 15 years, right?"

Esme nodded.

"Yeah. 15 of years of money worries and fights with her family and shunning from his and he works 80 hours a week because her family relies on him for loans they have no intention of repaying. 15 years of talking then sorta talking then only talking about Posy and the mortgage. She tries, I think, tries to get him back to where they were. But he can't, or he won't. So she gave up."

"Was that her giving up when she came to London to see you?"

"Not exactly. She was worried about me, didn't know a thing about you. She wanted to make sure you were real, that you really loved me. But more than that, she wondered if we had it in us to fight for this. To fight and work and communicate and fuck to keep our love alive."

"I don't think she wonders anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

Tom took a deep breath, then made a confession.

"I told her I was going to marry you. That I was going to propose marriage. I had to tell her. I was so scared but I did it. She's the love of your life, Esme, and she had to know that I was serious. That I wasn't going anywhere. That we were going to make a life together. But that life would be sweeter knowing it had the wholehearted support of your best friend."

Esme sat up to look at Tom in astonishment.

"Wait, she knew?!"

Tom smiled weakly.

"Who do you think help me pick out the ring?"

"Oh Tom..." Esme reached up to kiss him, fondling the hair at the nape of his neck. "You are too sweet, and too good."

"No such thing as too sweet or too good." Tom said solemnly. "Nothing is ever too sweet to good when it comes to you."

He pressed a kiss to her palm.

Esme snuggled into him. She slipped her hand under the water and began to fondle his thigh.

Tom groaned.

"If you keep that up, I'm not sure how much longer I can be good..."

Esme laughed.

"Will it help if I sing you a song? It's another for the first dance list."

Tom sighed, then nodded.

> [_Who knows how long I've loved you_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rx_APcTyIUg)  
>  _You know I love you still_  
>  _Will I wait a lonely lifetime?_  
>  _If you ask me to I will_


	5. Magnus The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, far be it from me to keep you from reading and writing your fantasies." He kissed her. "I hope you share them with me. If and when you're ready." He kissed her again.
> 
> "Oh?" Halla could scarcely breathe. What was it about him and his unabashed tenderness that never failed to take her breath away?

"B21... B21... B21... Where is... ah. Here we are."

Halla Roque claimed seat B21 on the Dublin train with her messenger bag. She was about to heave her backpack onto the overhead luggage rack when she felt a pair of large, warm hands on her shoulders.

"Let me."

Halla looked up to see her boyfriend, Magnus Martinsson, smiling at her. He winked, then gently placed her bag on the rack next to his.

"Thanks, love." Halla stood up on her toes to kiss him, giggling when he ran his fingers through her unruly curls.

Something on the wall below the luggage rack caught Magnus's eye.

"Halla?" He nodded at the something. "What..."

Halla turned her head to follow Magnus's gaze. There on the wall, electronic displays alternated between showing the seat number and the name of the passenger who had reserved it. One display flashed "B22... Magnus Martinsson" while the other showed "B21... Halla Martinsson".

Halla blushed.

"Oh, I guess I must have made a mistake when I made the reservations on the Irish Rail web site. I thought it was neat that you could display your names like that." She sighed. "It's silly, I know."

Magnus pressed a kiss to the top of Halla's head, inhaling the fresh scent of her shampoo and the rain that had followed them through Ireland.

"Halla Martinsson." Magnus whispered into her ear. "A thing like that."

Halla looked up at him. "Yeah," whispered she. "How about it."

Moving her messenger bag onto the table in front of them, she slid into the window seat. Halla waited for Magnus to slide into the aisle seat beside her before she got out her laptop and secured her messenger bag under her seat.

"Work to do?" Magnus peered at her computer screen.

"Uh, not exactly." Halla squinted at the screen while she connected to the free-wi-fi. Her fingers flew over the keys as she opened a browser and logged into Tumblr. "I have some, um, reading to catch up on."

"Any authors I know?"

"Um, it's a lot of independent authors who specialize in short fiction of transformative works."

Magnus frowned in confusion. Halla sighed.

"It's fan fiction, dear."

Magnus chuckled.

"You're still reading that?"

"I may have moved onto writing it." Halla whispered.

Magnus's eyes grew wide, Halla could tell, though she'd not turned to look at his face. She felt his fingers under her chin, brushing at the delicate skin under her jaw. He pulled her face around to look at his. His eyes were shining, and he had a curious smile on his lips.

"Well, far be it from me to keep you from reading and writing your fantasies." He kissed her. "I hope you share them with me. If and when you're ready." He kissed her again.

"Oh?" Halla could scarcely breathe.

What was it about Magnus and his unabashed tenderness that never failed to take her breath away?

"Uh, excuse me. Is that my seat?" A girlish voice interrupted the lovers' reverie. Magnus and Halla looked up to find a pretty blonde girl frowning at them.

Or rather, she was frowning at Halla.

"Ah, what seat do you have?"

The girl looked up at the wall to check the displays.

"B18?" She looked down. "Oh, that's this seat here. Sorry about that."

The girl took the seat opposite Magnus, tucking a lock of flat-ironed hair behind her ear. She dropped a makeup bag on the table in front of her, along with an iPhone and a wallet bursting with receipts.

"American?" Halla asked.

The girl perked up.

"Omigod, you too? Thank gawd. I mean, no offense, Ireland is beautiful and all but all this rain! Get me back to Florida! I  _need_ my sunshine."

Halla marveled at how bright the girl's orange spray tan looked under the lights in the train carriage.

"I can see that." Halla managed to keep the smirk out of her voice. "I'm Halla. This is Magnus. And you're..."

"Madeline." The girl sniffed then, once she caught sight of Magnus's blue eyes and blond curls, his sharp cheekbones and firm jaw, bit her bottom lip. ["Madeline George."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3724477) Her voice was breathy, and she heaved her bosom as she leaned in to shake Magnus's hand.

Magnus released her hand first. "It's nice to meet you, Madeline."

"Oooh, what kind of accent is that?"

"Swedish, I guess." Magnus shrugged. "I'm from Sweden."

"Ooh, I love Sweden!" Madeline chirped. "Like, my entire room at home is from IKEA."

Magnus smirked. "Oh, that's, um... okay. IKEA is very popular."

"And I've seen  _MAMMA MIA!_  about a gazillion times." Madeline looked pleased with herself.

Halla had to laugh.

"You mean the musical?" Halla wondered. "But isn't that set in Greece?"

"Yeah, but the music is Swedish? ABBA? Hello?" Madeline opened her makeup bag, taking out a tube of lip gloss that she smacked against the tabletop a few times. She uncapped the tube, then smeared gloss all over her pale lips while ogling Magnus again.

"So, what, are you guys co-workers are something?" Madeline narrowed her eyes at Halla, sizing up the older woman who regarded her with a patient expression.

"Uh..." Magnus started before Halla cut in.

"Yes! Co-workers. That's right." Halla nodded. "We're, um, archaeologists. We're just returning to Dublin after checking out a few sites in the country for, um, dig possibilities."

When Magnus started laughing, Halla punched his thigh under the table, and he began to cough.

"Yes. We've found some promising locales, especially in County Kerry." Magnus nodded, then grinned as he continued speaking. "In fact, there was a walled garden in Killarney National Park that we think may have been a site popular with ancient Celts for sexual assignations. Isn't that right, Halla?"

Magnus turned to Halla, who blushed prettily. She licked her top lip before replying.

"Yes. [A semi-private garden for quick but intense couplings.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3887695) Very hot, despite the cold. We anticipate returning to the site soon to, um, resume our research."

Halla's voice came out in something akin to a purr. She slid her hand between Magnus's legs and squeezed what felt like a burgeoning erection, making him shift in his seat.

Madeline frowned.

"That sounds gross. Outdoor sex? In the rain?"

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it." Halla murmured.

"Huh?"

"Anything from the trolley?" A young man pushing a snack trolley interrupted what was quickly becoming a very strange conversation for Madeline.

"Do you have any green tea?"

"No, just Barry's."

"Are your potato chips organic? Gluten-free?"

"No, sorry." The young man looked like he was used to these kinds of questions.

"Then nothing, thanks."

The young man turned his attention to a smiling Halla.

"Barry's, please. Two milks, no sugar." Halla smiled at the tea and milk the young man placed in front of her, then handed over money to pay. "Keep the change, please."

"Ta, miss." Magnus shook his head at the man, and leaned against Halla as the cart moved away.

"Magnus, you feel so cold." Halla took his hand in hers. "You're practically freezing. You want some of my tea to warm up?"

Magnus closed his eyes and shook his head. "No thanks."

Halla caught Madeline's eyes, which had bulged out of her head when Magnus leaned against Halla, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Well, here, Magnus. Let me help you." She took his hand in her own two, rubbed it gently, kissed his fingertips, then slid his hand neatly and deeply between her very warm thighs.

Madeline made a sort of unintelligible sound, a sort of choking noise that sounded like phlegm coming into her throat. Magnus opened one eye in time to see her sputtering, toss her hair and flare her nostrils, before standing up to move herself and her things to a different carriage.

"Was that too much?" Halla whispered in Magnus's ear. "I wasn't jealous but..."

Magnus kissed the side of Halla's neck.

"That, Mrs. Martinsson, was perfect." He sighed. "I am very happy."

Halla stroked his ear. "Do you want to hear a story?"

"Is it one of yours?"

Halla kissed the top of his head. "Yes."

"Please."

Halla opened her laptop, navigated to her favorite fan fiction site, and began to read from [her latest work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3976072):

> _I took Tom's right hand in mine, then placed it carefully on my bare left thigh. I parted my legs slightly._
> 
> _He rubbed me, gently, then trailed his fingers up and into my inner thigh. I gasped when he swiftly found my slit, so wet with anticipation, and began to tease it with his fingers._
> 
> _"Forgive me?" I rasped._
> 
> _"What's there to forgive?" Tom growled._
> 
> _I wanted to look down, enjoy the sight of his hand covering my sex as his fingers teased me. But I wanted to see his face, so I turned to see that he had dropped his head back, to rest on the wall behind. He turned his head to face me, opening his eyes as he did._
> 
> _I smiled at him._
> 
> _"Hey, angel." I whispered._
> 
> _"Hey." Tom bit his lip._
> 
> _We moaned together as I arched my back in response to him slipping a single finger inside of me. He used the heel of his hand to press against my mound first, then rub against my clit, which was swollen and begging to be teased._
> 
> _I rolled my hips, which gave Tom a chance to roll his finger inside me, hooking it so he brushed against my G-spot._
> 
> _"Shit. Oh shit. Tom, I don't know if I can..."_
> 
> _I breathed deeper, louder, but still kept my eyes open and fixed on his beautiful face. It was so dark, so still, but I could still see his eyes shining at me. I kept arching, then tightened around him._
> 
> _Did my pussy think by clenching around Tom's hand that this would stop him, and the sweet agony of his ministrations? No, it just wanted more because I desired it. I wanted the friction, I craved the heat we were making in that dark little room._
> 
> _I kept my focus by gazing on Tom's face, delighting in the way his brow crumpled and his mouth moved as his fingers continued to pump into me._
> 
> _"Babe, I don't think I can... oh shit oh shit... I think I'm gonna." I whimpered, mindful that at any minute someone could find world famous actor Tom Hiddleston two knuckles deep inside my tight pussy._

Halla was dizzy for, as she had begun to read this excerpt, Magnus had slid his fingers to her sex, pushing her panties aside to caress her clit and tease the wet folds. She didn't know if she should curse or thank herself for remembering to wear a skirt and thigh highs. She decided it was a blessing as Magnus began to brush her clit with his thumb.

Magnus moaned into her neck, and began to suckle on the tender crook between the neck and her shoulder when Halla pulled away.

"Toilet. Now."

Magnus and Halla didn't even pretend to be subtle about what they were going to the toilet for together. As soon as Magnus worked out how to lock the door Halla was on him, handing him the panties she had pulled off herself. He looked at the panties in his hand while Halla began unzipping his jeans. He looked down at her, catching her eye as she gazed up at him.

Halla licked her lips, looked at the panties in his fist, then opened her mouth ever so slightly.

Magnus tenderly grasped her jaw and kissed her, swiping the inside of her lips to savor the sweet taste of her mouth, before he stuffed her soaked panties in her mouth.

Halla moaned and closed her eyes. Magnus thought he might come just at the sight of her, then looked down to find her breasts heaving. He pushed her sweater and bra up, then lowered his head so he could suckle on her breasts while below his hands grabbed her ass and lifted her, legs spread, to a sitting position on the narrow counter.

"Halla." Magnus moaned, his mouth still full of her soft flesh. He licked slow, wide stripes around her breasts, then flicked at the hard nipples that signaled her arousal.

Halla moaned in response, and rolled her hips. She felt Magnus kneel in front of her, and nearly screamed when she felt Magnus's hot breath on her wet pussy. She saved her screaming for when he pressed her face between her legs, licking around her labia before plunging his tongue deep and hard into her core.

Something that sounded like "Oh shit - FUCK" came from Halla's mouth, still full of her panties, when Magnus replaced his tongue with two fingers, and his lips closed around her clit. Lips pursed or tongue curled around the tender bud, he showed Halla no mercy as he began to suck vigorously.

Halla's rolling hips, the feeling of her tightening around his fingers, sent Magnus into a frenzied state. He looked up at Halla's face to see her looking at him with wonder. Her eyes were large and wet.

Magnus stood up and, before taking her in his arms, gently removed the panties from her mouth. He could still feel her heaving, bucking, but he had to ask.

"Okay?" Halla nodded before leaning on him.

"Arms are sore." She whispered. "Please, just fuck me."

Magnus took himself in hand, moving his cock to her entrance, and then plunged in. Halla screamed into Magnus's mouth: "YES!"

She moaned as he slowly began pumping into her, whimpering when he would break their kiss to nip at her neck or lick and suckle at her tits. She cried, tensed slightly when he moved his hand down to her cunt and began circling her clit quickly and roughly with his finger.

"Oh god," moaned Halla.

"Yes." Magnus hissed back, as he pressed his face into her neck. He bucked, faster and harder, the steady rock of the train setting a beat for him to match and then exceed. He felt Halla tightening around his cock, his cock that filled her and fucked her so intensely that they both began crying.

"Halla!" Magnus came hard and fast as soon as he felt Halla begin to come around his dick. She thrashed in his arms, jerking as her release moved through her body. His ass clenched, Magnus's bucking was harder and rougher as he continued to fuck her.

He braced himself against the counter so he wouldn't fall, then whimpered when he felt Halla slip her hands down his back and grab his buttocks. She squeezed his ass, giggling as she listened to him pant against her neck.

"What's so funny?" He murmured.

"Oh, nothing." She mused. "But..."

"Hmmm?" Magnus raised his hand to brush a thumb agains her nipple. Halla gasped.

"That was just part of the story I wrote. Imagine..." She kissed his temple.

"Imagine what we might have done if I had read you the whole thing."


	6. Halla The Answer

The landlady of the house on Mountjoy Square, the one with the green door, was overcome with a sense of deja vu when her latest guests checked in for the weekend.

Karen Murphy opened the door to the couple, then showed them down the hall to apartment 7, the oval-shaped flat on the first floor. She demonstrated how the keys worked, and flipped through the binder of restaurant and museum and attraction information she made up for each of her flats. She assured the gentleman that he'd only have to crouch a little bit up in the sleeping loft. After they'd assured her that everything was fine, she made her way to her own apartment on the third floor for some tea.

As she passed apartment 3 on the second floor, one of its inhabitants emerged to pluck a DVD from the library of movies that sat on a shelf on the landing.

"Hi, Karen." Helen Dean smiled a bit self-consciously, as it was afternoon and she had only thrown on a t-shirt and shorts to duck outside of the flat where she and Oakley had been "resting" (read: screwing) for the better part of the day.

"Hello, dear." Karen peered at Helen, regarded her flushed cheeks and tousled hair with amusement. [The brass oak leaf charm hanging around Helen's neck](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3935746/chapters/8833270) caught her eye. "That's lovely. Is it new?"

"Thank you, and yes, it is new." Helen sounded dreamy. "My birthday present from Oakley." She pet it gently, then tucked it back into her shirt.

"Everything alright in there? Hot water working? Let me know if anything is amiss, won't you?"

Helen squeezed Karen's shoulder. "Everything's been grand. Thank you for taking such good care of us, Karen."

"The rain should let up soon. You might be able to go for a walk when it's clear. But if it doesn't..."

"Oh, I'm sure Oakley and I will find something to do." Helen said, then blushed more when Karen raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes." Karen paused. "I imagine you will." She patted the girl's arm, then turned to continue up the stairs.

"Good evening, Karen." Helen said, then went back into apartment 3 and shut the door.

Karen smiled at the sound of soft laughter that came from behind the door, then promptly resolved to pour herself a large whiskey to see her through to evening.

* * *

Almost as soon as they'd unpacked, Halla made her way up to the soft bed in the loft and fell into a deep sleep. Magnus occupied the settee in the parlor below, listening to her snuffling sounds, and flipped idly through the binder of information Karen had left. He was only sort of absorbing the words and pictures of the various pamphlets tucked into the binder. His mind wandered back home to Ystad.

He wasn't particularly eager to leave Halla, but he was excited to get back to work. Get into the field with Kurt, spend more time being a detective and not glorified tech support. He was desperate to get home and begin planning for Halla's arrival. He'd already told his colleagues a little about Halla. Not much but they all sensed how important she was. How much he wanted her. How much he loved her.

Magnus wasn't prone to daydreaming but he did like to fantasize about Halla. The way she would look walking the beach in Ystad, running into the waves in her bare feet, before returning to him to laugh and pull him into her arms. The way she would charm his friends, his family, his fellow officers. His breath caught when he imagined what she would look like, naked, in his bed, waiting for him to come to her.

He allowed himself to feel bad for a bit about her leaving her friends in Chicago, her home for so long. Her cozy flat in the house with the big porch, the Puppet Bike, and food. Magnus decided he'd have to learn how to make deep dish pizza from scratch, as he doubted they'd be able to find any decent approximation of Halla's favorite Chicago dish in Sweden.

But then he remembered the way she told him, revealed that she would be moving to Malmo. A moment of tenderness, one of so many in the relatively brief span of their relationship, after she'd pleasured him with her mouth in [the walled garden](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3887695) behind Muckross House. After so much ecstasy and bliss, she managed to top that by telling him she was moving to Sweden for him. For them, she insisted.

What wouldn't he do for her?, he mused.

The whistle of the tea kettle brought him out of his reverie. Magnus shuffled into the kitchenette, turned off the kettle, and began to prepare his cup. One bag in a tall, chipped mug. Scant teaspoon of sugar. Splash of milk. Only there was no milk in the refrigerator.

Outside the patter of the rain on the windows became a rattle as the rain was made stronger by the wind. Magnus sighed - Tops in Pops was only down the block. He could nip down and get milk in less than five minutes if he ran.

* * *

The tiny grocery was empty of customers save for Magnus and another, a boy with unruly blond hair who, despite the cold, wore shorts under his anorak. The two of them stood in front of the refrigerator that held bottles of milk.

"Is that skimmed?" The boy looked at Magnus, then grinned when he recognized him. "Magnus, right?" He stuck his hand out. "Oakley? [We met at the airport last week.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3897943/chapters/8752603)"

Magnus was startled but recovered quickly enough to shake the boy's hand. "Yeah, you were with Helen, right? She and Halla met on the plane to London."

Oakley nodded. He opened the door to the fridge, waited for them both to take out quarts of milk (2% for Magnus, whole fat for Oakley), then grinned again.

"You having a good time?"

Magnus smiled a bit shyly, then nodded.

"What have you guys seen? You made it out to Killarney, right?"

"Yeah, we drove the Ring of Kerry, then spent a few days hiking and exploring the national park. We just got back to Dublin today."

"Just the hiking and driving? Anything else?"

Magnus felt a little emboldened by the mirthful look in Oakley's eye.

"Well, you know it did rain a lot this week. So... we spent more time indoors than we planned." Magnus played it straight, even when Oakley smirked.

"Yeah. Us, too." Oakley actually giggled. "A lot of indoors time."

They took a beat before they burst out laughing.

"Maybe I'm a little tired," Magnus confessed.

"Yeah," replied Oakley. "And maybe I'm grateful that Helen's napping right now."

"Halla too." Magnus looked thoughtful. "You notice how much alike they look? The girls I mean."

Oakley nodded. "Helen pointed it out to me. She thinks the two of us look alike."

They regarded each other, then shook their heads.

"Don't see it."

"Yeah, me neither."

The two of them walked over to the register, where Magnus paid for both of their milks ("I insist. Think of it as a rather sad excuse for a belated birthday present for Helen."). Walking out the door, they paced in companionable silence back up to the house.

Oakley fiddled a bit with his key, then let them both in. Magnus made his way down the corridor when he noticed Oakley had stopped at the bottom of the staircase to the second floor.

"Magnus?"

"Yeah man?" Magnus took the hood of his jacket down, peering at the young man with the blond curls and blue eyes, firm jaw and broad shoulders that mirrored his own.

"You and Halla - that's long distance, right?"

Magnus nodded.

"How..." Oakley faltered.

"How do we do it?"

Oakley nodded.

Magnus shrugged. "We talk all the time. I've visited her in the States."

"I've done that." Oakley quirked his lip. "But what else?"

"Do you love her?"

"Oh god, yes." Oakley whispered fiercely.

"Remember that. Remember that when it gets hard. Remember that when you think you want to quit. Remember that if she ever tells you she wants to quit, or if she wants you to go."

Oakley looked ashen but Magnus continued.

"Remember that love is work. You have to keep doing it and making it. You're young, so maybe this sounds scary..." Magnus saw Oakley nod, ever so slightly. "But you're young, and you're strong. So fight. Fight for you and Helen. Every day. She'll fight, too."

"Okay." Oakley nodded again, stronger. He looked up the stairs. "I don't want to lose her."

"Is that a risk?"

"We leave for university. We'll still be apart. It won't be easy."

"Has it been so easy all this time?"

Oakley shook his head no.

"Then don't make it harder."

"How do I do that?"

Magnus looked thoughtful.

"Ask her," Magnus whispered. "Ask her, listen to what she says, and then make sure you do that thing. When you feel unsure, ask again."

Oakley nodded. "Thanks, man. I think that makes sense."

Magnus stepped forward and shook Oakley's hand. "Good luck, yeah?"

"Yeah. You guys too." Oakley turned and took the stairs, two at a time, up to his flat.

Magnus let himself into the flat quietly. He didn't want to make any noise if Halla was still asleep. As he slipped his shoes off and hung up his coat, he heard the soft tapping of Halla typing on her laptop come down from the loft. And then the sound of her singing in a breathy voice. He stopped for a moment, to see if he could make out the words.

> _I will stay if you let me stay_  
>  _And I'll go if you let go_  
>  _But I won't go far away_  
>  _Because you're my only home_  
>    
>  _And I will hide what you want hidden_  
>  _And I'll roam if you say roam_  
>  _But I'd just as soon you didn't_  
>  _Because you're my only home_

"Magnus?"

"Yeah, baby?" Magnus put the milk down on the kitchenette counter, then made his way up the stairs to the loft. He found Halla sitting up, wearing the sweater she'd bought in Killarney over a t-shirt and blue panties, legs crossed. She moved her laptop to the floor.

"I woke up and you were gone."

"Just for a second." Magnus crawled into bed, laying his head in Halla's lap.

"Where'd you go?"

"I got milk from the shop on the corner. We need it for tea."

Halla leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Thanks for that." She kissed him again. "Thanks for this week." Another kiss, this time to the tip of his nose. "Thanks for letting me sleep."

Halla drew him up so she could slide into his lap, and wrap her arms around him. She kissed him again, this time on the mouth, and licked at his lips until they parted so she could tease his tongue with her own.

"Thank you for not freaking out about me moving to Sweden." She leaned back, a look of concern wrinkling her brow. "You sure it's okay? I know you said before but I just..."

Before Halla could finish asking her question, Magnus slipped his arms around her at the waist and drew her in. He pressed his face to her neck, leaving wet kisses near the bruise his lips had left on her earlier that day. Magnus moaned, this time with satisfaction instead of want.

"Halla." Magnus shifted, trying to slow his cock from hardening but it was so difficult as Halla was so warm and soft in his arms. "Oh my Halla. I'm just... I've been imagining what it will be like when you move to Malmo."

"Oh yeah?" Halla shrugged her sweater off, then giggled when Magnus slipped his hands underneath her shirt. She whimpered when his fingers brushed her nipples. "What did you imagine, dear?"

"You."

Magnus groaned when Halla pulled off her shirt, then pushed him back onto the mattress.

"Naked. In my bed."

He helped Halla push his trousers, boxers, and socks off. He closed his eyes as Halla wiggled out of her panties, then lay her body on top of his, her legs straddling his.

"The windows in my bedroom face east, so the light would be bright in the morning. You're pretending to sleep when I come back from my run."

"If it's early then I probably wouldn't have to pretend to sleep." Halla giggled, then moaned when Magnus slid a hand between them, finding her clit with his fingers.

"You're pretending so you can pounce on me, have me before I get in the shower."

"I couldn't get in the shower with you?" Halla pouted. "That's not very nice."

"The shower isn't big like that hotel bath back in Chicago." Magnus teased her clit, delighting in the feel of Halla rocking against his hand slowly. "But there is a separate tub. We could take baths together."

"Good," moaned Halla. She whimpered as Magnus's fingers began to stroke and tap her clit. "Oh god, that feels good."

 "And then after you have me, and I have you, and we have each other, we take a bath. A nice slow one. There's a lot of bubbles and maybe our hands get up to no good in the water."

"What else?" Halla's eyes were shut tight, so Magnus used his hands to push her legs apart, move her sex closer to his cock.

"We have to get out eventually. If we don't, how else would I make your eggs and toast? You'd make the coffee, and then settle down to write while you eat."

"What will you do?"

Magnus took his cock in his hand, brushed the tip against Halla's clit. They both gasped, then moaned as his dick pushed into her slick folds. He was fully seated within her in one swift stroke.

"Oh god." They moaned together. Halla began to rock her hips slowly while Magnus struggled to talk.

"I... I'd read the paper. Oh baby, please go slower. I'm not sure I can last much longer." Halla slowed down. "I'd read the paper, and ask to read whatever you were writing."

"What am I writing?" Halla circled her hips, then whimpered when Magnus slid his fingers back to her clit to circle it in the opposite direction of her body's movements.

"Something like what you read me on the train. Oh that's right." Magnus moaned when Halla clenched her tight, wet walls around him. "Yes, please. Oh Halla."

Halla hummed. "Okay. Pure smut then. With some romance." She licked the crook of his neck. "You know why I like to write these stories, write about Tom Hiddleston?"

Magnus could only shake his head and grunt. He began to pump slowly into Halla, meeting the rocking motion of her hips.

"I like writing Tom. He's a good muse. You should see these pictures of him on Tumblr. Trousers so tight, they may as well be leggings."

Halla laughed softly, then squeaked when Magnus bucked into her especially hard. "Oh, did you not like that? Bad Halla."

Magnus murmured something soft, unintelligible. Halla's eyes fluttered shut as his hips began to buck harder.

"The thing of it is, my dear man, is that Tom's only appeal to me is how strong his physical resemblance is to you. Oh!" Halla squeaked again as Magnus began to jerk.

"Though I doubt he could make me laugh, make me feel quite so good, make me come quite so hard as you do. As you have done. And as you are doing... right this very... moment."

Halla slid her arms around Magnus's neck, surrendering her pleasure to him. One hand was still focused on her clit while the other grasped at her ass. Halla ground her breasts against his chest, rubbing her nipples against the warm skin.

His cock was so hard, and Magnus was still a bit tired, but the feeling of Halla on top of him, writhing and moaning and tightening around him with her liquid heat was too good. He plucked at her clit with his thumb and forefinger, groaning when she would whimper.

"Please, Magnus, you have to let me come. Oh god!" Halla yelled as he began to pump harder. Her hair on the pillow looked like fine threads of black silk. Her chest was flushed, evidence of her arousal and her efforts.

Magnus surprised them both when he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. He brought her legs up to drape over his shoulders, enabling him to fuck her so deeply it brought tears of relief to her eyes.

"Oh shit! Fuck. Harder! Come on. Just come in me. Please baby." Halla begged him to come and he very nearly did.

"Ladies first." Magnus groaned before he reached between them and returned his fingers to her clit. He craned his head down, taking a nipple between his teeth before he flicked and suckled at it with his tongue.

"OH GOD." Halla grabbed his head, pressed it to hers and willed her eyes open so she could meet his gaze as she came apart in his arms. That her orgasm, which arrived just before his began, was complete, and that her surrender was willing.

Halla bucked under him, thrilling when Magnus grabbed her roughly around the waist as he came, filling her with his seed. Her breath was uneven, her eyes glassy.

"Oh dear." Halla sighed as Magnus slumped on top of her. She brushed a few curls off his sweaty forehead.

"What's wrong, dear?" Magnus sighed when she pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Apologies to Mr. Hiddleston, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to have stop writing about him in my fan fiction."

"Why? I love that you write this stuff."

"I know, but I think our sex life has gotten so good I've got to start writing about you."

Magnus laughed.

"Okay but don't use my name, okay? I've got a reputation to uphold as a fine upstanding citizen of Ystad and an officer of its police force."

"Of course, dear." Halla whispered. She tightened her arms' grasp around his neck.

"Anything for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Halla sang is "You're My Only Home" by The Magnetic Fields: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Avwp5OXTkRA


	7. St. Stephen's Square

Helen Dean was in the shower when Thomas "Oakley" Oakley returned from the market. He hung up his anorak and kicked off his boots by the door before storing the milk in the mini-fridge. He thought about joining her in the shower, then remembered it was too narrow to accommodate them both, and instead took his place on the settee.

Oakley found a shawl on the arm of the settee and wrapped it around himself. He fished his phone out of his pocket, and began to flip through the pictures he'd taken of Helen the night before. He relished the look in her eyes, the way her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and how the oak leaf pendant would shift between her breasts as she posed and laughed for him.

He smiled when he got to the video of them making love, but decided not to watch it, not just yet. While Oakley was eager to see Helen in the throes of passion, to relive that encounter again and again, he wasn't terribly excited about watching himself.

Over the sound of water, Helen's voice came piping out of the shower. Oakley thought he recognized the melody, and hummed along as she sang:

> [ _Welcome, gentry,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vN838j1cAwA)  
>  _For your entry_  
>  _Sets our tender hearts a-beating._  
>  _Men of station,_  
>  _Admiration_  
>  _Prompts this unaffected greeting._  
>  _Hearty greeting offer we!_

Gilbert & Sullivan, he realized. Oakley shook his head and sent a text to his mother.

> Mum!
> 
> _Thomas! How are you?_
> 
> Fine - guess what Helen's singing in the shower?
> 
> _Tell me._
> 
> She's singing Gilbert & Sullivan.
> 
> _Ooh. I knew there was a reason I liked her._

Better make sure she never sees those pictures then, Oakley mused.

> _Which work?_
> 
> Not sure... something about "welcoming gentry".
> 
> _Ah, that's_ Ruddigore _. Minor, but pleasant. Perfect for young lovers... Thomas!_
> 
> Mum?
> 
> _If Helen's in the shower, where are you?_
> 
> Um... not in the shower?
> 
> _That's a good lad. Tell Helen hello, and I'll see you tomorrow. Christopher's collecting you from the airport._
> 
> Thx. Luv u.

Oakley turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening. He took a quick picture of Helen standing there, wrapped in a towel and wearing glasses. She grimaced.

"Please, Oak. I look awful. I'm wearing my glasses, and not even the cute hipster ones."

"All the better." Oakley laughed when she stuck out her tongue out at him. "Now do I post this to Instagram? To Facebook?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"You do that and I'll update Facebook to say that you drooled on me in your sleep last night!"

"You wouldn't!" Oakley threw a cushion at Helen, who caught it neatly in her arms. She set it down on the floor, then curled up next to Oakley on the settee. He opened the shawl a bit so it draped around both of them.

"I would. But maybe I'd only make that status visible to me, and to you." Helen sighed. "And maybe to your mother. She likes everything I post there. And not just the stuff that has to do with you."

Oakley put an arm around Helen and drew her close when she shivered. "Of course she likes what you post. She adores you."

"She said that?" Helen sounded incredulous.

Oakley nodded.

"When?"

"Last summer, after I got back from seeing you in Paris. Right before she grounded me until October."

Helen laughed when Oakley pouted.

"She knew she adored me then?"

"You doubt her?"

"No, but..." Helen shook her head. "I don't get it with you Oakleys. How do you know, just like that?" Helen snapped her fingers.

"We know our own when we see them."

"So that makes me an Oakley then? Already?" Helen arched an eyebrow.

"Would that be so awful?"

Helen looked at Oakley, counting the freckles on his face and neck. She considered his long lashes and sweet blue eyes. She leaned in to nip at his ear, sucking on the earlobe before she sat back and looked at him again.

"No," whispered Helen. "I do not believe that it would."

A demure smile curled her rosebud lips, but only for a second when she began to guffaw as Oakley tickled her. Around the neck, behind her shoulders, and in the crooks of her arms.

Helen gasped when her towel fell open and she felt the slight chill of the air inside the flat pebble her skin. Oakley took this opportunity to grasp Helen tightly in his arms, rubbing her back to warm her. He pulled her legs over his lap, then rearranged himself so he could lean into her. He made sure the shawl was tucked around them again.

"Oakley," she murmured. "You always do that."

"What do I always do?" Oakley sighed.

"You work me up just for the purpose of calming me down." Helen smiled when she felt a hand touch her breasts under the shawl. He rolled one nipple between his fingers, then the other, until they hardened under his touch.

"Is it really so terrible?"

"No, but... oooh." Helen exhaled deeply when his hand danced over her breasts, then her belly, and then finally slid between her thighs. His fingers found her sex, wet and inviting and waiting. He slid his index finger inside her, teasing her just so while his thumb pressed gently on her clit.

"How's that?" Oakley whispered.

Helen continued to breathe deeply but said nothing.

Oakley began to circle his thumb around the sensitive bundle of nerves. He watched Helen's eyes close, and relished the way her lips moved as she began to pant.

"You ticklish here, too?" Oakley wiggled the finger that was now gently placed in Helen's core, then curled it slightly to brush against her G-spot.

Helen gasped. "Ticklish isn't quite the word... hahahahaha!" Helen laughed when Oakley rolled his hips underneath her. His hand remained in place.

She reached down to run her fingers against his jaw, delighting in the sensation of his clean shaven face. Helen was very relaxed, and responded nicely as Oakley's thumb began to move faster against her clit. Sighing, feeling so languid, she let her legs fall more open under his hand. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, then directed her gaze down to Oakley.

He looked up to meet her gaze. "Hi."

"Hello," she purred. "That feels so good."

"I'm glad." Oakley smiled.

"I think I'm close."

"Already?" Oakley frowned. "We've got all afternoon and all night. Maybe I should try to prolong this..."

"Don't you dare..." Helen gasped as she felt his thumb began to worry her clit even faster.

"Oh my!" Helen jerked her head before she arched her back, tightened around the two fingers that Oakley now had seated in her. "Oh Oakley. Yes. That feel so good."

Oakley ducked down to flick at her nipples, suckling on a breast with care as his fingers continued to caress Helen. She brought her hands up to his head, grasping at the curls as her orgasm came to a lovely if gentle end.

She leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

"Sleepy." Helen snuggled down into the settee. And as much as Oakley wanted to let her nap again, he couldn't help but notice that it had stopped raining.

"Helen?"

"Hmm?"

"It's not raining anymore."

"Of course it stops raining the day before we leave."

"I don't suppose I could entice you into going for a walk? Fresh air? Exercise?"

Helen grumbled. "Exercise? I thought we were doing pretty good at that, and we didn't have to even leave the flat for that."

Oakley chuckled. "I'll buy you ice cream."

Helen sat up. "Okay, jerk. Let's go."

* * *

In flat 7, Magnus Martinsson raised his head from between Halla Roque's thighs, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and asked her a question.

"Darling?" His hair was messy and wild after having ravished Halla but his voice was one of concern.

"What?" Halla stretched, raising her arms above her head. She yawned, then propped herself up on his elbows so she could look at his face. "We gonna go for another one?"

"Well, that was only twice." Magnus smirked.

"Is there a record you're trying to beat?"

"Maybe."

Halla threw a pillow at his head, but she missed.

"We leave tomorrow, and then..."

"And then you come to Chicago, we pack my stuff up, and we go to Sweden. Together." She nudged him with her leg.

"Together," Magnus repeated. He smiled, a sight that never failed to delight Halla because he always looked so serious. "We should celebrate."

"I dunno, sir." Halla drawled. "I thought we were doing a pretty good job of celebrating right here."

Magnus chuckled. "I'll buy you ice cream."

Halla sat up and threw Magnus's shirt at his head. "Well, okay then. Ice cream it is."

They made their way to the housedoor where they found two people fiddling with the lock.

"Need some help?" Magnus offered. At the sound of his voice, they popped up.

"Oh hey!" Helen smiled when she recognized them. "It's you guys. When did you get in?"

Hall pulled Helen into her arms for a hug. "This morning, on the train from Killarney."

"Oh yeah, we ran into each other at the grocery getting milk." Oakley nodded at Magnus.

"You knew?" Halla marveled. "Oakley, you guys should have come to us for tea or a bag of potato chips or something."

"Oh, no, we didn't want to bother you guys. And besides, we were, um, napping." Oakley met Magnus's gaze briefly, then blushed.

"As were we." Magnus said. "It's been a long week."

Halla and Helen caught each other's eyes, then had the good manners to blush themselves.

"Right, well, ice cream? Our treat?" Halla offered.

"Sure thing. And maybe drinks after? We'll get those. I've got a little birthday money." Helen gave the key in the lock one last wiggle, then cheered when the door swung open.

* * *

There was a queue at Murphy's Ice Cream but it moved quickly so soon enough they were making their way slowly south on Grafton Street. Closed off to car traffic, the street was full of tourists and evening shoppers. Occasionally they would stop for a busker, usually a young man playing a guitar or a few older gentleman singing ballads.

The sound of two girls, young as evidenced by the sweet lilt of their song, came from the direction of St. Stephen's Square. Helen dragged Halla towards the source, discovering a pair of girls in school uniforms with a bucket between them.

Helen clapped her hands. "I know this one!" She darted to the girls, whispered in their ears, then took a spot behind them. The girls began again, this time with Helen singing the alto harmony for them.

> When the buds are blossoming,  
>  Smiling welcome to the spring,  
>  Lovers choose a wedding day  
>  Life is love in merry May!
> 
> Spring is green (Fa la la...)  
>  Summer's rose (Fa la la...)  
>  It is sad when summer goes,  
>  Fa la la...
> 
> Autumn's gold (Fa la la...)  
>  Winter's grey (Fa la la...)  
>  Winter still is far away  
>  Fa la la...
> 
> Leaves in autumn fade and fall,  
>  Winter is the end of all.  
>  Spring and summer teem with glee:  
>  Spring and summer, then, for me!  
>  Fa la la...

The crowd burst into hearty applause, and showed their appreciation further by filling the girls' bucket.

Helen touched her cheeks - she looked mortified, then darted into Oakley's arms.

"What's wrong? That was lovely, if a bit unexpected." Halla touched Helen's shoulder.

"Sorry, couldn't be helped." Helen sniffed. "I'm just so happy to be here. And that's not a song you hear all the time."

Oakley nodded. "Yeah, Ruddigore isn't as well known as Gilbert & Sullivan's other works."

Helen looked at Oakley in astonishment. "Wait, how did you know?"

Oakley shrugged. "Mum is a devoted fan of the Oxford Gilbert & Sullivan Society. Wait, how do you know it? I heard you singing Ruddigore in the shower."

"Tradition at the alma mater. Every year the eighth grade class performs a Gilbert & Sullivan work for the entire school."

"Well, while this is all very fascinating," interrupted Halla, "I'm pretty sure that's a park over there. Anybody care to check it out?"

They followed Halla into the park.

* * *

Almost as soon as they walked under the gate, Helen gave Oakley a wicked look. Before she could reach out and tap him, he kissed her. He swept her into his arms, letting his hands run all over her body while he plundered her mouth with his tongue. She was out of breath when he released her, which is what he hoped for.

"Helen..." Oakley smiled.

"You bastard..." Helen growled.

"You're it!" Oakley ran off. Giving a shriek, Helen ran after him, her hair flying behind her like a flag.

Halla and Magnus were left laughing. Hand in hand, they explored the park. They admired the beautiful lawns and the carefully planted flowers, dodged a few families of ducks emerging from the man-made ponds or slipping into fountains to preen. Halla smiled at the ducks.

"They're so cute." Halla cooed at the birds who were used to this sort of thing. Magnus pulled her away, seating himself on a nearby bench before he pulled Halla into his lap.

"They are cute." Magnus pressed a kiss to Halla's neck. He inhaled deeply. "You're cuter."

"You have to say that. You're my... what do I call you? Boyfriend? Lover?" She sniffed. "Not partner. That's not right."

"Beloved? Sweetheart?" Magnus suggested.

"Those are good."

Halla looked at his face, his serious expression seemingly betrayed by eyes that shone. "You look... quite happy right now. Satisfied, I'd say."

"Well, Halla," replied Magnus. "That was very delicious ice cream."

Halla playfully punched him, or tried to as Magnus grabbed her fist. He opened her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He studied their hands intently.

"Everything okay?" Halla smiled when Magnus looked up at her.

"Your hand..." Magnus bit his lip. "It looks a bit bare."

Halla's face fell. "Magnus, you're not... we talked about this. We weren't going to have this discussion. Not until, not until..."

Magnus nodded. "I know. I'm not going to ask again. Not until it's been a year since last fall. Since we went to New York for Uncle Gerhard."

Halla breathed. "Okay."

Magnus brushed a few strands of hair from her face. "And how do you even know what I was going to ask you?" He looked mischievous when he said this.

"You're such a jerk, you know that, right?"

Magnus smirked. "Yes, and lucky for you, I'm your jerk."

"That's right." Halla giggled. "So my hand looks bare. So what? It's not like you were going to..."

"No, I wasn't. But I need you to close your eyes."

"Magnus..."

"Halla..." Magnus sounded firm so Halla shut her eyes.

She laughed as she felt him move under her, struggling to get something out of his pockets. She felt her left hand being lifted, then two rings being slid onto her middle finger. What the...

"Okay. You can open now." Magnus spoke in a hushed voice, inviting Halla to open her eyes.

She looked down at her hand, then up as she held her it up in the light.

"Two rings?"

Magnus nodded. "A yellow gold fox." He kissed her cheek. "And a rose gold kitten." He kissed her again.

"They're precious." Halla kissed each ring, which appeared to snuggle next to each other on her hand. "But why..."

"They're the puppets. From Puppet Bike. That last night we had in Chicago..."

Halla gasped.

"Of course. Of course you remembered."

Halla took Magnus's face in her hands, and pulled him in for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, then buried her face in his neck. He sighed when he felt the first of her tears slide down towards his chest.

"Are those happy tears?" Magnus whispered.

Halla nodded.

* * *

Esme Grey wanted to take pictures of the funny fountain that caught her eye. She pulled Tom Hiddleston into the park, insisting it would only take a second and then they could leave for the airport.

"I quite like this cap you got me." Tom tugged on the tweed cap that concealed his dark red hair. "I think I look distinguished."

Esme stopped to smile at him. "Yes, darling. But of course we both know you are still a big dork."

Tom laughed. "Of course!" He fell into step behind her, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow so he could escort his fiancee properly. "So where is this fountain you so desperately need to photograph?"

"Um... over there." Esme pointed in the direction of a fountain decorated with ceramic cat o' nine-tails plants. "Those things that look like hot dogs."

"Everything looks like hot dogs to you, Esme." Tom shook his head.

"That's not true!" Esme protested. "Well, maybe just a little."

She took another step forward and was nearly knocked over by someone running past her.

The someone shrieked "Oakley!" as she ran past.

Another someone nearly ran over Esme, screaming "Helen, I've got you!" as he ran past.

Esme jerked her head in the direction of the people who had nearly run her over.

Helen? Oakley? Wasn't there some fan fiction with a Helen and Oakley she'd been reading last winter?

She looked around the park, not seeing them at first. She found them in a heap on the lawn, Oakley having pinned Helen underneath him. They were laughing so hard that they began to cough, and then laugh again.

Esme shook her head. Some coincidence, she thought, then turned back to find Tom looking at her with concern.

"You okay? Those kids nearly knocked you over." He pulled her into his arms.

"I'm fine. They were just playing." Esme darted forward, took a few pictures of the fountain, then returned to Tom's embrace.

"Home?" Tom whispered.

"Home." Esme agreed. "And if you're really good, maybe, just maybe, I'll forget to wear knickers for the car ride to the airport." She paused. "Ride's about 30 minutes so, you know, think about it."

"30 minutes, eh?" Tom narrowed his eyes at her.

"Yes, and those 30 minutes start... now!" Esme yelped then ran back towards the park gate. Her skirt flipped up, revealing her bare ass underneath.

"Fuck!"

Tom was taken by surprise but he knew to run after her, and he knew what he'd do when he'd caught her. He'd touch her, hold her, never let her go.

It had been years since he played Tag. But he remembered the rules, and knew she did, too.


End file.
